The Boom in the Boss
by Courbeau
Summary: No gun fights, serial killers, kidnappers or mass graves in the past week. Everyone knows the Jeffersonian doesn't stay quiet for long, therefore, with every day that passes, the chances of all hell breaking loose increase exponentially.
1. Chapter 1

Dr. Temperance Brennan sat motionless at her desk, staring silently at the things that seemed, in the moment, to make up her life.

Her computer was humming to life, lighting up and powering on just seconds after she had sat down and pressed the appropriate button. The one desk lamp that she had switched on to light her area was thankfully dim. At five-thirty in the morning, the Jeffersonian was as silent as a tomb and just as still. Although, if one was to compare any resting place to the lab and find anything in common, it would be a crypt. Many sets of identified and unidentified bones; some to move on, and most to stay.

Brennan smiled as she picked up her coffee mug that had been placed neatly beside her file folders. Angela must have washed it for her last night and left it where she would find it, knowing she would be here so early, while everyone else was sleeping. There was a note.

'And eat something, too. –A'.

Brennan took a moment to log in before rising to see if there were any tea bags left in the cupboard. Ten minutes later, she was seated again at her desk, mug of steaming Earl Grey and bowl of Captain Crunch beside her.

She checked her email, as usual, relishing in the silence and calmness that would soon be taken over with noise and chaos and work and the hustle and bustle of the Institution.

-

Hours later, an unidentified set of remains from Limbo had been assembled, documented and Brennan had produced a strong set of evidence that the man she had in front of her was a Civil War era soldier who had disappeared. The circumstances to his discovery suggested that he was in a freak accident that had buried him alive during some sort of construction just outside of Washington.

"I see you ate my cereal, sweetie. Was it good? Because it was my breakfast. I said eat 'something'. Not _my_ something."

Angela stopped beside Brennan and surveyed the exam table with curiosity, jingling her necklaces. Brennan looked up at her after finishing a brief notation in her file.

"Sorry, Ange. There's yogurt in the fridge, if you would like."

Angela smiled and pulled up a stool.

"I already took the liberty. It was good," the artist looked around. "Where's Booth?"

Brennan blinked before turning back to her folder.

"At the FBI building, I assume. I don't know; I haven't heard from him this morning."

Angela made a sound of indifferent acknowledgement before rising again.

"I'll be in my lair finishing the design for my time machine on the Angelator. Just in case you need me to reconstruct the skull of a brutally murdered unnamed victim who needs justice brought to them after death. Or if you get more yogurt, I'd be open for a visit, too." Angela skipped off, boot heels clicking on the hard linoleum floor below the platform. She waved to Jake the delivery man as he hopped back down the stairs from the offices above, shoulder bag swinging.

Brennan's phone beeped, alerting her to a voicemail from Booth. She held the phone to her ear as she passed her eyes over the skeleton once more.

"Hey, Bones. I know you're hunched over a pile of bones, too involved to pick up your phone. No new case, unless you count the grumblies; It's past eleven, I'm hungry. Call me before noon and I might just be able to squeeze you into my lunch plans."

His goodbye was in the form of a chuckle and a click.

Brennan sighed and considered phoning him back. Unfortunately, she had late lunch plans to meet her editor and talk about the latest bunch of chapters for the current book. That was sure to run a few hours, at least. Sighing again, she stood and stretched, yawning and shuffling her papers together.

-

Her editor, Marie, had invited Brennan's publicist, Carol, and Brennan had consequentially spent the last three hours being mostly ignored after a run-down by both women on the status of their respective roles in the publishing of the next book.

Marie, a middle-aged woman with high expectations of the world around her and the people who lived in it, was usually rather to-the-point and direct. She didn't often get overly-friendly or let emotion cloud her judgement on matters to do with work. That was why Brennan had chose her as an editor. She didn't try to sugar-coat her opinions; if she thought the writing was good, she would say so. On the other hand, if she thought it needed improvement, she would say exactly that. She was also a word economist; if she could her idea across in fifteen words, she wasn't going to waste an extra twenty five or another breath on it.

Carol, who one might expect to be in her mid-forties, was actually a twenty-something. Brennan estimated she was between the ages of twenty-three and twenty-five. She bore no signs in her gait that she had given birth, and displayed a small, thin engagement band on her ring finger. Anthropologically speaking, the likelihood of her being much older than 26 was small, given the societal expectations and documented census surveys proved that a woman over twenty-eight would likely be married and have children.

However, together, the two women turned to a babbling, giggling mess. Brennan had watched as most of their professional attitudes went out the window. Topics of discussion went from marriage and children, during which Brennan blinked and tried to see their reasoning, to home life and relationships.

Never once did the women make an effort to include her. And she thought she could have made some enlightening contributions to the discussion.

After excusing herself and returning to the lab, she dropped by Angela's office in search of her friend.

"Ange-"

Brennan stopped in her tracks.

Wendell looked up from Angela and retracted his hand from around her waist, his eyes twinkling like Booth's sometimes did.

"Hey, Dr. B."

"Mr. Bray," Brennan nodded, turning her attention to Angela as Wendell slunk out of the room, throwing the artist an apologetic look over his shoulder. Angela rolled her eyes and picked up her tablet.

"Hey, Sweetie. Look what I did today."

Brennan obliged, having no choice but to watch a basic sick man walk around the screen performing gymnastic moves and demonstrating cooking technique.

"This is what you've done today?"

Angela grinned and shrugged.

"There were no dead bodies that needed faces and no crime scenes to reconstruct. What was I supposed to do?"

Brennan blinked and followed her friend to her desk, watching her sit and recline with her ankles crossed, twirling a piece of hair between her fingers.

"Something productive."

"That _is_ productive. I produced something, didn't I? You can't tell me you didn't learn anything about whipping eggs for pavlova. I know that was news to you. Plus, it was a stick man. Educating you. That's _funny_."

Brennan stuck her hands in her pockets and scrunched her lips before giving a small smile.

"I guess it was. Considering I am a New York Times Best-Seller and a Doctor. And a stick man taught me something I didn't know. Even though that is _your_ knowledge, because the stick man doesn't real _know_ anything; he's not real, and _you_ created him. So he only knows as much as you know," she paused, remembering some wise words about compromise. "But it was funny, Angela."

"Wow, sweetie. You need something to do. Where's that hunk of FBI meat you call-"

"Bones! There you are."

Both women turned to the dark-haired man in the doorway, red belt buckle flashing and blue tie swinging. He was slightly pink in the cheeks and a flash of panic crossed behind his eyes for a moment. He sidled into the room, stopping before them and placing his hands on his hips.

"Hey, Booth," Angela smiled.

"Hi, Angela. What are you ladies doing up here? Hiding? I was looking all over for you."

"Well, then. Whisk her away, like you always do. Oh, and Jake says hi, Bren."

Booth's hand rested on Brennan's lower back as he guided her from Angela's office.

"Who's Jake?"

"The delivery man. Why are you here?" Bones looked to Booth as he shuffled her into her own office and slid past her.

"Bones, it's dinner time. And you probably haven't eaten since this morning."

"That's not true, Booth. I had lunch with my editor and my publicist. Which is why I haven't had time to phone you back. Thank you for the invitation, though."

Booth looked up from gathering Brennan's coat from her chair, grinning.

"You're welcome, Bones. Besides, if you had had lunch with me, you would be to sick of me to have dinner with me," Booth held out her jacket as Bones slid her arms in and adjusted the collar.

"No, I wouldn't. It takes a lot more than two meals with you to be sick of you, Booth," Bones stated, starting out the door to her office.

Booth gave a laugh and followed after her.

"Just you wait, Bones. Just you wait. Dinner is going to be so packed with me, you're going to regret saying that."

-

Bones had Booth drive her back to the Jeffersonian after supper so that she could pick up her work bag and take her own car home. As Booth drove off she waved from the front doors, which a security guard held open for her.

"Dr. Brennan, it's empty in here. I hope you're going home soon," the older man remarked as she entered the building.

"I'll be leaving as soon as I pick up my things for the night, Ray, thank you."

"Nothing big on the go, I heard in the staff room. No gun fights, serial killers or mass graves in the past week. You must be bored," he joked warmly, sitting back down behind his desk.

Brennan smiled politely.

"It's unfortunate that murder needs to occur for me to be busy. But yes, it was a slow day. 'Happy' doesn't seem appropriate, but I will feel more useful when we get another case."

"It's only a matter of time, Doctor."

Brennan walked quietly through the dead hallways to the lab, swiping her access key and trekking up the steps to her office. The lab was still and stagnant, submersed in darkness. She flipped on her desk lamp, just like she had this morning and made to fill her shoulder bag with everything she brought earlier, including her notes from her editor about a few extra scenes in the book. She flicked through the mail that had been piled on the corner of her desk, deciding to wait until tomorrow to open most of it.

There was, however, a small parcel waiting patiently for her attention.

Brennan picked it up carefully, weighing it in her hands. The label just read:

'Dr. Temperance Brennan,

Jeffersonian Institution,

Medico-Legal Building, Forensics Lab

PO Box 37012

Washington, D.C.'

As she sat down at her desk to open the unusual and unexpected parcel, she froze as a tiny _click_ reached her eardrum. Her blood seemed to race the adrenaline through her veins immediately, making her head spin on her shoulders. She closed her eyes and took five deep cleansing breaths, unmoving except for the motion of expanding and compressing her lungs. She tried desperately to calm her nerves.

Occipital, parietal, frontal, nasal, sphenoid, zygomatic, maxilla, mandible.

Lambdoid, sagittal, coronal.

Her blood slowed with every passing cranial bone and suture.

Carefully, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, staring at it for a moment.

She was being silly. Nothing was wrong. She was hearing things. There was _nothing_ to worry about.

But what if there was? The stakes were too high.

Taking another deep breath, Brennan leaned down to peek under the seat of her chair, cautious not to move laterally on the wheels. She closed her eyes and raised the phone to her ear, pressing speed dial one.

"Bones, I thought I said you'd be sick of me after supper. And besides, what could you possibly have to say-"

Brennan tried steadying her shaking hands.

"Booth, I'm sitting on a bomb."

* * *

**Hello, my pretties. It's been a long time.  
I'm trying my hand at longer fiction, as many encouraged me to do after reading my Bones oneshots. It's my first big-ish one, so we'll see how it goes. And I have you guys to give me feedback.  
I'll save the excuses for my absence and just move on to thanking my beta, Oponn, for her wonderful help with almost every aspect of this.**

**As always, tell me what you think.**


	2. Chapter 2

"You're... what?" Booth stumbled over his words after Brennan had interrupted him.

"I'm sitting. On a bomb. And for obvious reasons my judgement is compromised, my body is responding to the epinephrine overload, and I do not have the expertise to remove myself from danger in this situation," Brennan breathed, trying not to think of the explosive strapped to the bottom of her chair.

"You're serious? You can see it?"

Brennan paused.

"I heard it when I sat down. So I looked. Carefully."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a split second, and Brennan heard the familiar sounds of K Street. Booth was turning around and heading back to the Jeffersonian.

"Okay, Bones. I need you to let me hang up and call the bomb squad. When the line goes dead, you need to turn off your phone. I also need you to turn off anything you can safely reach that emits or receives a signal," Booth was trying not to rush through coaching her, but Brennan could hear the tension in his voice and the honking around him.

"Okay. Anything with a signal," she paused, her brain barrelling towards realization. "Okay, go now, Booth. I'll see you soon."

"And Bones? Don't do anything stupid. I don't want to have to scrape you up and put you in a bag. Remember, I'm the only one allowed to be blown up. Okay?"

"Yeah," Brennan responded, voice crackling.

"I'm coming, Bones. As fast as I can. You'll be fine."

The line went silent and Brennan held the phone to her ear for a moment longer than she needed to.

"Yeah. Fine," she whispered, moisture gathering along her waterline, obscuring the edges of her vision. She blinked them away and swallowed thickly, thinking through what she now had to do.

Booth would take care of calling in the appropriate people to evacuate anyone left in the building and diffuse the bomb. He would call Cam and Angela, who would speak to Hodgins and Max.

What she needed to do was just as Booth had instructed. Anything that sent out a radio wave had to be disabled. Her eyes shone wetly as she took on the only thing she could do from her seat, which she could not rise from.

Her phone blipped off and Bones pocketed it. She tossed her car keys across the room onto the couch, so that she wouldn't accidentally press a button. She didn't even know if that qualified as a signal output. Probably, but now wasn't the time to think about it. Brennan then slid her foot out of her shoe and reached for the power bar under her computer; fastest and simplest way to ensure everything was off. The room fell completely silent as everything powered down.

She was all alone now.

-

Booth sped back towards the Jeffersonian Institute while on the phone with dispatch. He would be there in less than twenty minutes, and the bomb squad would arrive just before him. They were deploying all units as Booth hung up and raced through another intersection. Thank god it was past rush hour and the traffic wasn't bad.

"Angela? I'm sure you're busy or... It doesn't matter. Bones is at the lab and she's literally sitting on a bomb. So if you could phone me back, that would be great. Don't come to lab; it'll be crazy. Just call me."

Booth hung up for the second time. Angela would get the message and hopefully not freak out.

"Booth, hi!" Cam shouted over the cacophony in the background.

"Cam, can you hear me?" Booth questioned.

"Hold on, I can't-" Cam's breath was tight and it raced from her lungs. After a few seconds, the noise quieted and she took a deep breath. "Sorry, I'm at a get-together for a friend's birthday. It's a little crazy here." A car passed nearby.

"I have a whole different ball-game of crazy going on right now." Booth took a deep breath. "Bones is at the lab. She's sitting on a chair that has some kind of a bomb attached to the bottom. I figured you should know."

A beat passed.

"How long until the squad arrives?"

"Ten minutes or so."

"I'll meet you outside."

-

Camille Saroyan hurried back into the loud bar, trying her best to be polite as she slid between conversations and through group discussions. The were people packed into this little bar like sardines.

As she half-stumbled out of another mass, she came face-to-face with Olivia, the birthday girl.

"Cam, there you are. I want you to meet Michael, my new-"

Cam touched Olivia's arm and looked right into her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I can't stay. There's an emergency at work."

"Anything to worry about?" Michael spoke up from behind Olivia.

"Oh, Cam. Don't be so dramatic. It's-"

"Actually, it's a pretty big deal, Olivia. I'm not bailing and using work as a half-baked excuse."

Olivia blinked her large green eyes and they widened.

"Oh, no. Okay. Don't worry about it. Go ahead. I'll catch up with you tomorrow or the day after."

Cam squeezed her friend's arm gently and turned back for the door.

This better not be her coworkers' idea of a joke.

-

"Seeley, calm down. There isn't anything for you to do." Cam shuffled her feet on the asphalt of the parking structure. She had her arms folded across her chest tightly, worry for Dr. Brennan apparent in the two small lines etched deep into her brow.

Booth was throwing on an armour suit the bomb team had given him with fervour.

"Cam, she's all alone. She's probably freaking out, because who wouldn't be if they were about a single little movement away from being scientist jam? I need to at least let her see a face she knows. All the guys going in there to get her out are strangers. I _need_ to be there, Camille." He zipped up his armour and grabbed the protective face and head shield, wedging it under his arm.

Cam looked over at him from her tense stance against the hood of his SUV.

"Well what are you waiting for? Go!"

Booth turned and took off for the front doors, where a few agents had been posted to keep civilians out. He nodded to them and disappeared into the building.

-

Dr. Temperance Brennan sat motionless, just as she had been for the past eighteen minutes and forty-three seconds since she had hung up with Booth and turned all her electronics off.

Calcaneus. C-a-l-c-a-n-e-u-s.

Navicular. N-a-v-i-c-u-l-a-r.

Metatarsal. M-e-t-a-t-a-r-s-a-l.

Cuneiforms. C-u-n-e-i-f--

There was a small knocking sound from her office door, and Brennan braced herself before opening her eyes. There was a small mass of people just by the door in full armour, looking into the room. There were people behind them in slightly different protective equipment, but Brennan supposed it would do the same job. She ran her eyes over what she could see of the people behind the face shields.

No Booth.

Brennan took a deep breath, determined not to get upset that he had not been permitted to be here. Of course he wouldn't be needed. He would just be a liability; he didn't specialize in bombs. It was only logical to assume that they had held him back for his own safety.

Sighing quietly, she looked up again. Off to the left, down the hall, she could see two people arguing. One pulled off his head gear to better get his point across.

Booth spoke loudly to the person who Brennan assumed was the man in charge. His body language indicated he was using intimidations techniques, likely unconscious, to force his way in closer to the death trap of a glass-walled office.

There was a moment of silence between the two before the non-Booth nodded curtly and turned back into the crowd. Brennan watched as Booth shoved his mask back onto his face and stalked toward her office.

-

As Booth approached the window, a bomb technician placed a small white board in his hands.

"You know, to tell her she's okay." He shrugged. "We're going in a minute or two. Everything's just being checked over."

Booth looked down at the blank board and then up at Bones. She was a mess. Pale and shaking slightly, trying to calm herself down. While perched atop an explosive device. She was counting something out in her head, Booth could tell. Her fingers were tapping her thumb in an unmistakable rhythm; spelling bee.

Booth grinned and uncapped the marker. Bones was watching him from the other side of the glass, hesitantly.

'Relax. R-e-l-a-x.

You'll be fine, Bones.'

He held it up for her and she smiled faintly. Her eyes were watery and he was sure she was going to break any minute. The fact they wouldn't even let him in to keep her company until she was walked through the extraction procedure was killing him.

She was momentarily distracted by the arranging of the armoured men. They were about to make their entrance. It was eerily hushed just before they opened the door and slid into the office like a ripple over calm waters.

Booth held his breath the entire time as he watched the men reassure Bones and ask if she was okay. She gave a small nod and closed her eyes as they positioned themselves around her and gave her instructions.

They coaxed her out of her chair slowly after walking her through the process of weighing down the chair with something in her body's absence. They held the chair down as she stood and moved away smoothly, one agent guiding her out the door to Booth as the rest of the team set about securing the compression part of the swivel chair so they could disarm the detonator safely.

Booth wrapped his arm around Bones' shoulders and walked her slowly down the steps to The Platform where he made her sit on one of the exam tables as an on-scene paramedic looked her over. She didn't say a single word as he did so.

-

As she drank the orange juice the paramedic had suggested she take for the shakes, Brennan watched Booth watch her.

"I'm fine, Booth."

"I know, Bones. I'm just making sure."

"Thank you. For... 'bringing in the cavalry'."

Booth's face split into a grin, cracking the worried mask and melting the concern in his eyes.

"Anything for you, Bones."

She nodded, looking down at her shoes and swinging her feet.

"Hey, we'll find whoever did this. We'll find out why. You did great, Bones. You were amazing. Brave as hell."

"Thanks. Have you seen Cam?" Brennan felt herself warming up again as she smiled back and hopped down from the table. She cast a glance around the cavernous space. People were milling around with purpose; something seemingly not impossible for FBI agents. The extraction team had successfully disarmed the IED under Brennan's chair and begun transport of the device back to their lab for analysis.

Brennan started walking for the steps down to the main floor, re-cinching her chocolate brown sweater around her waist and tucking some hair back behind her ear.

"Where are you going? Bones?" Booth scrambled after her, hopping down the stairs and jogging after her swift pace.

"Finding out the who. Then we can find out the why," she stated clearly, as if he was falling behind in the conversation.

"Now? Don't you want to sit for a bit longer and-"

"I said I was fine, Booth. We need to have a look at the security camera recordings from today and see if we can pinpoint any suspects."

Back to business.

Brennan entered Cam's office and the boss was sitting at her desk busy talking to someone on the phone.

"No Michelle. Everything is fine. I'm just going to be here late, that's all," Cam explained calmly. "There was some trouble, but it's being dealt with right now. I'm fine, really. It didn't have anything to do with me. Yes, I'll talk to you tomorrow. Get some sleep and make sure your alarm is set for tomorrow morning. I love you, too. Bye."

She set down the receiver and heaved a sigh.

"Oh, good. I was just about to come and find you. The first thing I wanted to do was look at security footage while the other lab is analysing the bomb assembly. Considering we have nothing else to do..."

Cam logged in and entered her supervisor keys, bringing up the security system. Both Booth and Bones looked on as she sifted through cameras, searching for the one that overlooked Bones' office, along with a few other doors down the hall.

"What time did you get in this morning, Dr. Brennan?"

"Around five thirty."

The video rewound until it hit 5:32 a.m. when Cam caught the blips of Brennan entering her office, leaving to get tea and cereal and returning with full hands.

"You used your desk chair earlier today, so I'm guessing the bomb hadn't been put in place until sometime after this, when you weren't in the office."

Brennan nodded.

"I came out and did work on the platform for a few hours before everyone got here for work, and then I continued working until Angela came to talk to me. Then I went to a late lunch with my editor. Maybe an hour after I returned, Booth came to pick me up to go to the diner, and he got my jacket for me, which was over the back of my chair." Bones looked to Booth. "You don't think it was already there by the time we went for dinner, do you?"

Booth shrugged. "I didn't hear anything when I got your jacket. But your jacket isn't very heavy. I doubt it would have affected the trigger mechanism. The chair moved, too. You know, around the swivel a bit. But that wouldn't affect a compression trigger anyways. So I don't know."

Cam was cycling through the cameras again to bring up a view of the platform. They watched Bones work for hours, not moving much as the lab filled up with people and Brennan's office remained empty. Just before Angela approached Brennan on the Platform, the delivery man walked his usual route from the lower floor, past the Platform to the other stretch of offices and made his rounds all the way around until her office. He had the box Brennan had tried to open earlier in his hands, along with some mail.

The man entered the office by means of the open door and disappeared from view. He reappeared two and a half minutes later and descended the stairs, stopping to talk to Angela, who had just left Brennan on the Platform to go for her lunch.

"Who is that delivery guy?" Booth voiced.

"Jake," Cam answered. "He's been our delivery guy for months."

"It doesn't take over twenty seconds to put mail on a desk and leave," Booth turned from the computer and flipped open his phone, speaking quickly into the mouthpiece. When he was done, he looked at the two women with determination. "Why does a delivery man rig up a forensic anthropologist's desk chair?"

Booth's phone jingled and he listened briefly to the person on the other end. When he snapped the phone shut again, he looked horribly confused.

"The bomb was a dud. The lab says that there was a key component missing in the assembly. It was never _meant_ to go off."

--

* * *

**Darlings.**

**Let me just say thank you so much for the wonderful feedback on the first chapter. I had an astounding number of emails the very next morning I woke up for work six hours later and they've been pretty constant since then. **

**I hope chapter two has lived up to your expectations.**

**Drop me another line, guys. Your thoughts on the characterization and plot mean a helluva lot to me.**

**-M**


	3. Chapter 3

Sunlight streamed through Brennan's curtains as her alarm clock sounded, breaking the haze of sleep that fogged up her brain and clouded her thoughts. She lay on her bed with her comforter pulled up and scrunched under her chin watching the beams of light catch the dust particles in the air, instantly creating a miniscule universe in her room.

Suddenly she say bolt upright in bed.

_Bomb_.

Why was she in bed?

She scrambled up and threw back the covers, her heart racing, remembering how not long ago her heart had done the exact same thing in reaction to a very real threat. She barely noted that she was wearing her clothes from last night, minus her coat, sweater and shoes. Taking a deep breath, she opened the bedroom door and came face-to-face with Booth.

"Jesus, Bones! Way to give me a heart attack!" Booth took a step back and blinked a few times.

"Give _you_ a heart attack? What about _me_? Why were you lurking outside my door?" Brennan clutched her heart, feeling the frenzied beat underneath her fingertips.

"I heard your alarm go off, and then nothing. So I came to see if you were awake or not." Booth turned and walked back into down the hall to her kitchen and living room. Bones followed him, questions at the tip of her tongue.

"Who brought me home?"

The smell of fresh coffee lured her in the direction of the coffeepot and she saw Booth had taken mugs down for them already. He poured the fresh brew as he explained.

"I did. You passed out on Angela's sofa close to midnight. They were working through the security tapes to make sure we didn't need to look into anyone but the security guard, Jake Holden. Which we don't, by the way. No one saw anything else suspicious-looking in the last four days." He handed her a steaming mug and spooned sugar into his own. Bones stirred sugar and milk into hers and immediately took a sip. The hot liquid slid down her throat smoothly, easing the tension she didn't know she had.

"Okay. And what about the bomb? I remember something..."

"Oh, yeah. The bomb was never meant to be detonated. You'll have to get the squint-talk from Hodgins, but basically something was missing. On purpose. It _could_ have been a mistake, but combined with the other stuff found in it, it's 'unlikely it was a forgetful mind'."

Brennan nodded in understanding, tousled hair covering her face as she bent to retrieve the container of granola from the cupboard beside the fridge.

"What some?"

She shook the plastic container in Booth's direction, expecting him to grumble a response or make some remark about bacon.

"Sure. Thanks, Bones."

She grabbed two bowls and the milk from the fridge and transported it all over to the table where Booth was perched, pants wrinkled and shirt untucked. Brennan could see his suit jacket and tie were over the back of her couch.

"So you brought me home and slept on my couch? That's horrible for your back, Booth. You should have gone home. I wouldn't have been offended."

"I didn't think you would be, Bones. I just had to check out your place and make sure it was okay," he alternated between bites of cereal and mouthfuls of coffee.

Bones stirred everything around in her bowl, making sure milk had touched every bunch of granola. "What did you check for?"

"Oh, you know. Monsters under the bed, in the closet, in the fridge..."

Brennan chewed thoughtfully.

"And by monsters you mean explosives?"

"You got it." Booth placed his spoon in the empty bowl and took his last gulp of caffeine. "Good granola, Bones."

"Thank you," she responded simply.

"Will you be okay if I run home and change?"

"Why wouldn't I be okay?" Brennan looked up from her bowl as Booth stood and returned his mug and bowl to the kitchen.

"I don't know. Maybe because you thought you were going to get blown up yesterday?" Booth blinked.

"Booth, I'm fine. I'm going to shower and I'll see you at the Lab later," she sighed and took another spoon of granola and uncrossed her legs.

Booth gathered his stuff and said goodbye, promising a phone call later on in the morning.

-

The lab had been cleared and deemed safe, but the building was abuzz when Brennan set foot in the door. People she had never talked to were coming up to her and asking if she was alright, if it was true, how did it happen, what did she do?

After battling her way through the building to the lab, Brennan immediately ran into Angela.

"Hey, sweetie. Tamara said she saw you walk in twenty minutes ago."

"Tamara?" Brennan questioned, the unfamiliar name tumbling off her tongue oddly.

"Yeah. You know, Aerospace Technology Research Lab, east side of the building? Tall-ish, blonde, always wearing great shoes... Ringing any bells?" Angela walked with Brennan to her office and observed her stance. "I thought you might have been a little nervous coming back here."

Brennan looked up from her desk, which she was already seated at, sifting through mail quickly.

"No. Booth said it was safe. I have no reason to assume anything is out of the ordinary."

Hodgins came barrelling into the room, skidding to a stop beside Angela.

"Dr. B! Livin' life on the edge. What's next, street luge championship?" He grinned from ear to ear, eyes sparkling. "I know this guy who does BASE jumping-"

"Why is it always so hard to find you squints?" Booth rolled into the room casually, stopping in front of Brennan's desk and placing his palms on the edge of the glass. He blinked from person to person. Angela smiled and shifted while Hodgins turned back to Bones, who in turn went back to organizing her desk and flipping through papers.

"I mean, what can top the blast seat literally _being_ your seat? Although I've heard spelunking can be-"

"Jack," Angela cut in, "do you have anything that might dispel any feelings of uncertainty and danger around here? I mean, if you don't, that's okay. I'd just advise you to get on it before they try and blow _you_ up. Or me. Or Cam..." Angela wandered out of the room muttering to herself.

"Speaking of progress, the FBI is sending me the bomb to have a look at. It should be here soon. I'll let you know what I find when I find it." Hodgins followed Angela out of the room and Bones looked up at Booth.

"Did you have something new?"

"No, Bones. We're going to _find_ something. You and I are going to talk to Jake's wife. I talked to his boss this morning, and get this: he never returned his delivery van yesterday and they haven't seen or heard from him since he took his route yesterday morning.

-

"I figured Angela would've had my head this morning when I walked in there," Booth pulled away from the Jeffersonian smoothly, surveying the following traffic in the rear view mirror. The late morning sun glinted off the windshields of the cars travelling Pennsylvania Avenue along with the FBI/Jeffersonian duo. Slowly sinking in the distance behind them, as they headed northwest, was the stately Capitol Building, grand and white.

"Why would Angela have been angry? I assume that's what you meant with the phrase. 'Having ones head' sounds very violent to me. Beheading. According to multiple documented cases, the human body can survive without a head. I believe the stories that people tell are just for wonderment and to encourage the urban myth. Once the head is severed from the body, blood can't pump because the brain tells the heart to work. Without the brain telling the heart what to do, all cell functions cease. Sometimes, a body will twitch after death by beheading because of post-mortem muscle spasms and electric currents that naturally run through the body, because it is a great conductor."

Booth's eyebrows were in hiked up into his hairline as he listened to Bones run of her facts. They passed the old shops and quaint buildings, hanging a right onto Wisconsin Avenue at Riggs Bank.

"Well," he spoke as they hung a left on Reservoir Road, "I left her a message about you and the bomb and told her to phone me when she got it. She did. I didn't pick up because I didn't hear it. I thought she'd be ready to rip me to pieces because she didn't know what was going on."

Bones watched the lush green trees pass slowly as they rounded another corner onto 34th and headed for Q Street.

"She called Cam instead. She told her what was going on. Angela knew _you_ were there. She knew I was safe. I told her not to worry about nagging you." Bones grinned. "I know how insistent she can be, though."

Booth pulled in on the left side of the one way street. The brick row houses were old and had a certain charm about them. The streets in this neighbourhood were quiet and muffled with trees and foliage; even the small planting boxes in front of doors and lining walkways were full and overflowing with creepers, hydrangeas, crocuses, day lilies, tulips, and hanging baskets of purple and fuchsia. The house they had stopped by had black shutters and white trim with gold numbers listing _1602_ over the red door. It was a good neighbourhood, by the looks of it. Georgetown University was just a few blocks away to the west and the park was a two-minute walk south. The distant thock of tennis rackets rippled down the street.

It was a _good_ neighbourhood. On the outside.

But the man that lived in the three-story brick row house in front of them had planted a bomb under Brennan's seat. How could anyone who lived here do that?

Both bodies slid from the black vehicle smoothly, their doors closing within a half-second of each other.

"Now, Bones, don't get too excited. Just let me handle the talking this time. We don't know if she knows what her husband did or not, and I don't want to scare her off. So think of it as a recon mission." Booth tilted his head towards her and Bones fell into step beside him with a blank look. "Information-gathering."

"Oh," a look of understanding washed over Brennan's features and she nodded with a half-smile. "Cataloguing data is something I am extremely proficient at."

"Just my luck," Booth grinned, hopping up the steps and holding open the screen to knock on the red door.

"You'd think a bomber wouldn't want to attract attention to his house," Bones murmured.

"What?" Booth whispered, looking for any signs of movement from inside the building.

"They have a _red_ door. It stands out in the block. And their small garden is well-cared for, probably by the wife seeing as a delivery man can't logically make a substantial amount of money. Red is usually associated with dominance; someone trying to hide within a culture would most likely try to blend in as much as possible. Just an observation."

The scarlet door swung inwards and a woman of medium stature stood with her hand on the doorknob. She was fair-skinned with a smattering of freckles across her zygomatic bone and following the process back toward her temples. Her nose was small and round, her eyes an intense blueish-green and her hair a light brown-red.

"Can I help you?" she questioned the two on her doorstep in an unexpectedly low voice.

"Yes, we're looking for a Mrs. Harrow," Booth replied.

"Well, you're looking right at her. Who are you?" Mrs. Harrow's eyes flashed suspiciously.

"I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth with the FBI, and this is Dr. Temperance Brennan. We're here about your husband, Mr. Jake Harrow."

"Well when you find him, send him my way," the delicate lady turned and waved to them over her shoulder. "Come on in. Shut the door after you. Don't want Maggie getting out."

Booth's eyes flashed to Bones and he ushered her into the house quietly. He shut the screen and door and wiped his shoes on the carpet in the front hall, trying to understand their first meeting so far. Mrs. Harrow's small form was already down near the end and her brown knee-length skirt was disappearing around a corner. Bones followed the lady down the hall and out of sight while a small fluffy white thing barrelled down the stairs to the left with a skittering of her paws. It attacked Booth's legs in excitement but immediately abandoned him when she was called.

"Maggie!"

And off she went.

Booth went after the ladies and found them in an open kitchen at the back of the house. Maggie had a kong filled with peanut butter between her paws to keep her busy and Bones was taking a seat across from Mrs. Harrow at the small wooden table.

"When was the last time you heard from your husband, Mrs. Harrow?" Bones started, taking the most obvious question from Booth.

"Lisa, please. Call me Lisa. And I heard from him yesterday afternoon. Around two, maybe. He was working, and he called to see if I needed him to pick anything up for dinner, like he usually does."

Booth nodded and pulled a chair out beside Bones.

"Was anything out of the ordinary? With the phone call, or around the house? Anything just not sit right with you?"

Lisa Harrow pondered a moment before answering.

"I mean, we... we didn't fight about anything we don't normally fight about. And he didn't come home last night. I can't get a hold of him, either."

"What do you normally fight about?"

"Money, mostly," her eyes flickered to the tabletop. "Maybe a month ago, we fought over him and whether or not he was having an affair. I saw him with a lady. I've never seen her before in my life. He said he went to high school with her. I only ever saw her the one time. But... I thought he might have been cheating because we were having problems."

"What kind of problems?" Bones pushed.

"Like I said, money. We don't have a lot. I inherited the house, and that was _all_ I inherited. Jake works for the postal service and I teach. We argue, but we love each other, like any other couple."

"Have you filed a missing persons report yet?"

Lisa looked down again.

"No. I thought he might be cheating. So..."

"Right." Booth cleared his throat and looked at Bones. "Okay. Well, we're conducting an investigation and we need to ask him a few questions. When you get a hold of him, give me a call." Booth handed his card to her across the table and smiled his side grin. "Thanks for talking with us, Mrs. Harrow. We'll be in touch."

Bones took her queue to smile and rise from her chair. Booth guided her from the house with a hand on her back and they shut the door behind them.

"So, Bones. What did we find out?"

The couple walked to the SUV waiting for them and separated.

"Lisa Harrow has not heard from her husband since early yesterday afternoon. They have marital problems stemming from money and infidelity issues."

"Yes," Booth concurred and slid into the front seat. "And she has no idea what her husband is involved in. That lady she mentioned, though. The lady she saw with Jake? I want to know more about her. Something just doesn't feel right."

Booth's phone jangled and he flipped it open.

"Booth. Yes. A what? Yeah, don't touch it. Just leave everything else alone, we'll be there soon."

He sighed and banged the back of his head against the headrest a few times.

"What wrong, Booth?"

"A dead body just showed up at the Washington Hospital Centre. They were conducting an examination when they found a note stuffed down the guy's throat with my name on it. What's betting it's our only lead?"

* * *

**Hey folks. Sorry I'm a bit late. Not as speedy an update as last time.**

**I know, I know. What's going on? It seems a bit confusing. It's confusing for me, too. No worries.**

**Drop me a line. I love you guys.**


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